A Rule Against Murder (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #4)

A Rule Against Murder (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #4) Page 65

“Oui. Pierre Patenaude showed me his weather station. Between his readings and a call to Environment Canada we can say the rain began about then,” Agent Lacoste confirmed as she sipped her vichyssoise.

“Bon. Alors, what were people doing then?” His deep brown eyes moved from Lacoste to Beauvoir.

“Peter and Clara Morrow went to bed shortly after you left the room,” said Beauvoir, consulting the notebook beside him. “Monsieur and Madame Finney had already gone up. The housemaid saw them and wished them goodnight. No one saw Peter and Clara, by the way. Thomas and Sandra Morrow stayed in the library here with his sister Marianna discussing the unveiling for about twenty minutes then they went to bed too.”

“All of them?” Gamache asked.

“Thomas and Sandra Morrow went straight up, but Marianna stayed for a few minutes. Had another drink, listened to some music. The maître d’ served her and waited until she’d gone to bed. That was about ten past midnight.”

“Good,” said the Chief Inspector. They were getting the skeleton of the case, the outline, the facts, who did what when. Or at least what they said they did. But they needed more, much more. They needed the flesh and blood.

“We need to find out about Julia Martin,” said Gamache. “Her life in Vancouver, how she met David Martin. What her interests were. Everything.”

“Martin was in the insurance industry,” said Beauvoir. “I bet she was insured to the gills.”

Gamache looked at him with interest.

“I imagine you’re right. Easy enough to find out.”

Beauvoir lifted his brows then looked behind him. The large comfortable sofas and leather chairs had been rearranged and now a couple of tables were shoved together in the center of the library. Three sensible chairs sat round the tables, and in front of each, neatly arranged, was a notepad and pen.

This was Agent Lacoste’s solution to the computer problem. No computers. Not even a telephone. Instead they each had a pen and a pad of paper.

“I’ll start training the pigeons to carry the message. No wait, that’s silly,” said Beauvoir. “There must be a pony express stop nearby.”

“When I was your age, young man—” Gamache began, his voice creaky.

“Not the smoke signal story again,” said Beauvoir.

“You’ll figure it out.” Gamache smiled. “I want to go back to last night. The family gathered here.” Gamache got up from the dinner table and walked to beside the fireplace. “Before Julia came in we got to talking.”

Gamache replayed the scene in his head and now he saw them all. Saw Thomas making an apparently innocuous statement to his sister about their conversation. And Marianna asking something, and Thomas replying.

“He told Julia we were talking about men’s toilets,” said Gamache.

“Were you?” asked Lacoste.

“Does it matter?” asked Beauvoir. “Men’s, women’s, it’s all the same.”

“People get arrested for thinking that,” said Lacoste.

“It seemed to matter to them,” said Gamache. “We hadn’t specified. Just public washrooms.”

There was silence in the room for a moment.

“Men’s toilets?” Lacoste drew her brows together, considering. “And that made Julia explode? I don’t get it. Sounds harmless enough.”

Gamache nodded. “I agree, but it wasn’t. We need to find out why Julia reacted like that.”

“It’ll be done,” said Lacoste, as they sat down again.

“Perhaps you’d like to chisel it into a stone so you don’t forget,” said Beauvoir. “Though I think I saw some papyrus lying around.”

“You interviewed the staff,” Gamache said to Lacoste. “It was a hot night, could some of them have snuck away for a swim?”

“And seen something? I asked and none admitted to it.”

Gamache nodded. It was what worried him the most. That one of the young staff had seen something and either was too afraid to come forward or didn’t want to “tell.” Or would do something foolish with the information. He’d warned them, but he knew kids’ brains didn’t seem to have receptacles for advice, or warnings.

“Did you find the wasps’ nest by the murder site?” Gamache asked.

“Nothing,” said Lacoste, “but I warned everyone. So far no problems. Maybe they drowned in the storm. But I did find something interesting while searching the guest rooms. In Julia Martin’s room.” She got up and brought back a packet of letters, tied with a worn yellow velvet ribbon.